


The Crone

by Sookiestark



Series: Seven Times Tyrion Married Sansa [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 13:02:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15389334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sookiestark/pseuds/Sookiestark
Summary: Seven Times Tyrion Married Sansa in King's Landing and how it turns out differently each time.





	The Crone

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the companion piece to Seven Wives of Tyrion Lannister. Every time I wrote a story to that series, another Tyrion and Sansa story begged to be written- These are those stories..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one takes place in the future...

341 AC 

Tyrion Lannister likes to help his wife get ready for bed. She is sick and she is old, but he likes the ritual of care. He is not as young as he once was, older than her but somehow she is failing and he is not. He does not know why, does not understand it, but he has known since he was born that life is unfair. He has had more than his share of joy with her by his side for the last thirty-seven years. 

He is sixty-eight years old and his wife is fifty-five. He is the age his father was when he died. Next year, he will live to be older than his father. Tyrion and his wife had three boys and two girls, one more than either his father or siblings had. He has been Hand for twenty-five years to three separate kings and one Queen, besting his father again. His eldest daughter is married to the King and Aemon Targaryen is a far better man than Robert ever was. 

The only thing he gives credit to his father is for bringing his wife to him. Of course, the first time they were married, his father had made a terrible mess for him to try and make her trust him or care for him. 

It was with great surprise when she came to him at Winterfell and said, “I would like to resume our marriage.”

Tyrion had thought it was Daenerys or Jon, or Sansa’s own play for power. He thought she might be afraid to die alone with the armies of death so near. She had taken him to the heart tree in the godswood and married him again, kneeling in the snow so he could cover her with his Lannister cloak. 

Sansa touches him, waking him from his memories, “Call for Leah or Bess. Do not bother with all this. I am too weak. You do not need to, Tyrion.”

Tyrion kisses his grey-haired wife’s head. Every night, he always tells her the same. “It is no bother to help the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms out of her clothes and into bed.” 

She laughs lightly against him. She still enjoys his flirting, his jokes. He thanks the Old Gods and the New for his wits, his birth, for they brought her into his life.

He looks at her into her eyes so she can see the truth in the words, “I mean it, Sansa.”

Today, he has had the kitchen staff make kidney pies like she had as a child and lemon cakes. His wife, the Lady of Casterly Rock, barely ate a bite. 

“Sansa, you must eat.” He had said to her.

“Pah,” she says pushing the plate away. “I do not need food to live. I have gold and power. Olenna Tyrell lived until her eighties with less gold and power than I. I will live to be a hundred. 

Tyrion takes his wife’s hand and kisses it. Tyrion has sent for Maesters and healers around the known world. They have all said the same. She is dying and will not last too much longer. Tyrion speaks, You must eat, Sansa. I like women with some meat on their bones.” 

“Tyrion, you like women of all shapes. I never knew a woman that Tyrion Lannister didn’t like.”

She is laughing and her blue eyes are full of mischief. Tyrion looks into his wife’s eyes because he wants her to hear the truth of his words. “I have been faithful to you since we were wed.”

She takes his hand in hers still and raises it to kiss it. His breath catches in his throat. Teasing him, she speaks, “The second time?”

He laughs. 

There is a rhythm to this. It is their ritual. She coughs in her handkerchief and blood blossoms on the white cloth. 

Tyrion gets up and goes to stand near her, concerned, “Would you like some water?”

She speaks between the coughing, “No water.. wine.”

He smiles and pours her a glass. It is a light wine that he has made, the Imp's Delight. He holds the cup gently to her lips and she drinks a small amount. He finds he loves the familiar weight of his wife in his arms. “Come to bed.”

The walk from the small table to the bed is six steps. Still, in those six steps, Tyrion feels his disability with each step. If he was not a dwarf, he could hold her upright or carry her however because of his size he cannot. They walk in haltering steps and he feels guilt and shame with every second of the journey. When they reach the bed, Tyrion feels a huge sense of relief.

Sansa smiles at him and touches his face, reassuringly. Without speaking, she knows his fear and shame. Set to his task, Tyrion unties the strings and laces of the dress. She helps him when she can. Her ladies dress her every morning in dresses fitting her station. Every night, he helps her take them off. She helps how she can, pulling her arms this way and that. She is weaker every day and tonight she is tired. She has been wanting her children and her grandchildren to come home and say goodbye. She misses them. 

When she is in her nightdress, Sansa asks, “What did the Maester say? Will I make it until Bran and Janna come? How long does it take for a ship from King’s Landing and White Harbor to come?”

Their children are coming here, as quickly as they can. They will miss her more when she is no longer with them. He will miss her most of all. Jason, their oldest, the heir to Casterly Rock, is thirty-four years old and a grandfather. He spends a bit of every morning with his mother in the godswood. But Sansa is the matriarch of more than just the Lannisters. Her progeny are in the North, the Reach, and of course, the Iron Throne. They have spent the last thirty years riding across the Seven Kingdoms, keeping it together, running the errands and managing the business of a kingdom.

As he pulls the blankets over her, she kisses him. He senses she is slowly saying goodbye. She speaks, “I don't think I will see all the children. I fear I have run out of time.”

Tyrion speaks, taking her hand, “No, you must stay with me. Who will keep me out of trouble?”

 

“Jason will. Find a pretty bed warmer, not too young so that it is scandalous, a clean, honest woman. Someone who might be able to read a bit.” 

“No, Sansa, you must stay. I am no judge of character.”

“I would stay, my love, if I could.”

“I would give all the gold underneath us in Casterly Rock, if you would stay with me.” 

“Do not lie to me, Tyrion.”

“It is the truth.”

Sansa laughs and lays down. “Come. Lay with me.”

As he climbs beside her, he thinks that he would give all he had if she would stay with him. Thirty-four years is not enough time. She curls against him as she has since that first night in Winterfell. Her breathing softens as she falls asleep. Tyrion wonders if he was able to get another week, another year, or even another decade, would he ever think it was enough time.


End file.
